


Little moments lost, not forgotten

by SmilinStar



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2014-11-02
Packaged: 2018-02-23 20:15:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2554157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SmilinStar/pseuds/SmilinStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's death. At its most beautiful vibrant best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Little moments lost, not forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> I felt like drabbling. Prompt was Autumn.

\-----

 

 

 

“God, I love the fall. You know, I think it might just be my favourite.”

 

He can't help the small twitch of his mouth, and he knows he's smiling. Its like he can do little else but in her presence.

 

She glances sideways up at him and shoves him playfully on the shoulder, “You're laughing at me. Stop laughing at me.”

 

He clears his throat and tries and fails to purse his lips together into a neutral line, “I'm not laughing.”

 

She huffs.

 

“I'm not,” he says again before shaking his head, “I'm just surprised, I would have thought -”

 

“Let me guess,” she interrupts, “Summer?”

 

She rolls her eyes and continues, “Just because I'm blonde and have a sunny personality -”

 

Now he does laugh.

 

“What? I do!”

 

He waves his hand in apology, “No I'm sorry, you're absolutely right. You do. Carry on.”

 

“Just because I'm blonde and have a sunny personality, does not mean I'm predestined or obligated to like summer the best.”

 

She loops her arm through his and leans a little heavier on him.

 

He's missed this. Her. These random little moments, lost amongst the big ones, the ones that always seem to slip away because no one deems them momentous enough to hold on to.

 

They're strolling through the streets, and dusk is fast approaching. What little there is left of sunlight is dappling through the low branches of the trees. Most of the leaves have turned to browns, oranges and autumnal reds, and they litter every inch of the ground around them. Be it the side walks or the green grass of the town square, it's all covered up, crunching under their boots.

 

It's death.

 

At its most beautiful vibrant best.

 

“You know,” Caroline says, and when he looks back down at her, he can see it now, it suits her perfectly, but he's lost in his own thoughts to realise she hasn't finished the tail of hers, “I am not that predictable.”

 

“Hmm.”

 

She elbows him, “I'm not.”

 

“Not what?”

 

“Predictable.”

 

“Really?” he says with a raised brow.

 

“Really,” she answers with a frown and tugs on his arm as she comes to a complete stand still.

 

She hasn't let him go, and so he has no choice but to whirl around to face her.

 

“Caroline,” he starts, “there are many things you are, and predictable is -”

 

The rest of his sentence and breath is stolen away by soft lips pressing hard against his own. He's much too shocked to even react, his wide eyes fluttering shut with the sensation.

 

Her hands clutch at his arms, almost as if she's using him to stand upright. She's softness and heat against him, soothing and scorching all at the same time, and he's losing himself in the feeling of nothing but _her._  

 

He's not sure what he's doing but he thinks his hands must have a life of their own as they reach up and tangle themselves in her hair and he presses back, muffling her gasp against his mouth.

 

But then the sun sets, and the hesitation kicks in, her fingers slacken, and before he knows it she's pulling away and he can do nothing but trail after her lips, eyes still closed.

 

He opens them to bright blue eyes, and blushing cheeks, teeth biting on a full lower lip, and he can't stop himself from staring as he finishes, voice low and clear, “and predictable is definitely not one of them.”

 

She clears her throat and tries to tame her expression into one of unaffected indifference as she puts both hands on her waist and raises her chin. The effect, however, is ruined by the pink stain on her cheeks and the fact her own eyes keep drifting down to his lips. Still, she manages to say, voice even, “And don't you forget it.”

 

He watches her walk away, kicking up dead leaves as she goes. She stops half way down the street, before she turns around, and raises an expectant brow, “Well? Are you coming?”

 

He shakes his head, stuffs his hands into his pockets and walks down to meet her.

 

She slips her arm back into his, and leans into him.

 

“You know,” he says after a moment, “I think it might be my favourite too.”

 

And then she's laughing at him.

 

“Hey,” he says, with mock offence

 

“I called it first,” she says with a smirk, “Get your own season.”

 

“Caroline, I really don't think -” he starts, a well thought out argument there on the tip of his tongue, but he doesn't get to finish it as she interrupts him with a roll of her eyes and a “Shut up.”

 

He grins down at her, before untangling his arm from hers, only to curve it around her back and pull her in tighter against his side.

 

“Fine, fall's all yours.”

 

She smiles back up at him, and mirrors the gesture as she places her own arm around his waist and says nothing else but “Thank you.”

 

And there's a whole lot more he could say, but for now, he settles for a “You're welcome,” and the unspoken promise of a thousand more little moments yet to come.

 

 

 

 


End file.
